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Phantasie Bereich: The Tale of Damascus
This is an original story by Gozon. It takes place in the imagination zone of Adolf Hitler, where he escaped to right after he lost. This is the story of a boy born in the time paradox and his journies to save the world from the very person who created it. Michael Jackson Saga Peace Destroyed It was a time of great peace in the world, a time that could only foreshadow great things. The year was 1959, and it was finally time for the coronation of the heir to the throne of England, taking the place of the great King Edward. The heir was prince Damascus Jones, a sixteen year old boy who grew up in royalty for the first ten years of his life and decided to travel the world for the next six. Today was his glorious return after he had heard his father had become gravely ill. Now, becoming a man, Damascus would be crowned King of England. "Citizens of England, hail and welcome back the heir to the throne of Great Britain, Prince Damascus!" chanted the royal guards, rolling out the red carpet in honor for the prince. The citizens cheered inside the palace grounds, a raving sea of red and white expanding in every general direction, covering the entire palace grounds. The trumpeters and buglers blared loud over the crowd as Damascus stepped forth. They all expected to see a fine young man dressed royally in the most elegant of gowns. They were all surprised, even the groggy King Edward and Queen Lady Gaga, when their son appeared in a simple green blazer, pair of jeans, and plain black shoes. His hair, which had been combed down and gelled into a bowl cut the last time they had seen him, was now unruly and spiked up in every direction. "Oh, erm, my lord, is that you?" asked the head royal guard to the oddly dressed prince. "Of course it is, Baxter. You haven't changed a bit," said Damascus with a grin. "I'm sorry, you look like, well, like a peasant," said Baxter. "Well, the whole outside world isn't one big castle," replied Damascus. "Oh. Right, sir," said Baxter. "Finally, after six years, the great Prince Damascus has returned to take the throne of England so his father, King Edward, may retire!" chanted Baxter. The crowd, overcoming their initial shock, cheered loudly. "The official coronation shall begin tonight at eleven thirty o'clock! Please, join us then to start the reign of soon-to-be King Damascus." The crowd then dispersed slowly out the large doors of the palace walls. Damascus retired from the balcony to his old room to prepare for his big night, the night he had been dreaming of for many years. Just as he was about to take a short nap, he felt a disturbance of energy. Out of nowhere, all the chi, or life energies, of the citizens who had left the palace walls vanished. Then, even more energies vanished, and an explosion ricocheted throughout the palace halls. "Wh-What was that?! What happened?!" exclaimed Damascus. He heard screaming and demolition all around his room and in the halls. Then, he sensed another energy that was located right above the palace. It startled him, as he hadn't felt that particular energy for three years, when he visited Brooklyn in the United States to see his long-lost banished brother in his black community, Michael Jackson. "Michael?! What's he doing here?!" exclaimed Damascus. He dashed out of his burning room at speeds that would be considered super human. In seconds, he had escaped the collapsing palace only to see another Hell. The palace garden was in flames, with craters littered everywhere. He expected to hear screaming, but there was none. He wondered why this was for a few seconds, but then he realized the answer. Everyone was dead. Damascus was the last one left. He looked high in the sky to where he sensed his brother. Sure enough, floating high above the ground, was a figure, most likely Michael. "M-Michael! Is that you?!" shouted Damascus. The figure slowly descended until he was face to face with Damascus. "Hello, Damascus," the figure said. Though he hadn't heard his brother's voice in three years, it was unmistakable. The only thing that he didn't understand was his brother's appearance. Michael, when he had last seen him, had a dark complexion with black skin, a gift from his patron, Darius Marquavius, the god of African Americans. His hair was stuck up in an afro and he wore common street clothes. This guy, though he had the same voice and energy signature, was definitely not his older brother. He had deathly pale skin, whiter than Damascus's. His hair had a similar texture, yet it was much longer and unruly, going down his back in loose curls. His clothes were mainly black with silver jewelry here and there. "You! You're not Michael! Who are you?!" asked Damascus. "What's the matter, little princeling? Can you not recognize your own brother?" asked the figure. "You are not my brother! My brother is black!" exclaimed Damascus. "All things are temporary, my dear brother, even skin tone. I accepted this form along with great powers so I can serve my true purpose and obtain my long-overdue revenge," said the figure. "That's impossible! Michael would never hurt anyone, unless provoked! He definitely wouldn't destroy a whole palace of innocent people for no good reason!" shouted Damascus. "Innocent?! You believe our mother and father are innocent?! ''Have you forgotten they wished this, this curse upon me, and then banished me to America for it?! They are definitely not innocent!" shouted Michael Jackson. "Still, you had no right to kill them, or anyone! You just murdered millions of people!" shouted Damascus. "Aw, poor prince. Sad you won't be coronated now? Too bad," said Michael. "I don't know what's become of you, but there is no excuse for what you've done! I'll never forgive you!" shouted Damscus. "Ouch, that hurts. I was planning on letting you join me in my quest to build a perfect world, free of injustices and racial differences," said Michael. "If by free of racial differences you mean killing all others, then forget it!" shouted Damascus. "Please, listen brother. I can't do this without you," mocked Michael. "If, If that's how you are, then I have no brother," Damascus said. His head was down and his temper was flared. It was terrible, but it was the inevitable. He knew he'd have to fight his older brother. "Fine, be that way. Turn to dust like Mommy and Daddy!" shouted Michael. He lept back into the air and hovered, a technique called ''bukujutsu that involved the usage of chakra, or energy pools. Chakra, unlike chi, or life energy, can be used at almost any time with an infinite supply, yet are considerably weaker than chi based skills. "Let's see if you can handle this! Just beat it!" shouted Michael. He extended both his arms and held them above his head as if he was carrying the world. Suddenly, he began gathering chi energy in his hands, a dangerous amount, as using your own life energy to attack shortens your own life span at a considerable amount. "A-Are you crazy?! You'll destroy us all!" shouted Damascus. "That's a risk we'll just have to take, now, isn't it?!" said Michael. The chi energy had formed a perfect black sphere about twice the size as a bowling ball. The chi energy was compacted, so there was no telling to how much damage an attack of that calibur could do. He stretched his arms out in front of him so that the energy sphere would follow. Then, he launched it. The energy sphere flew at supersonic speeds, curving in wave patterns so it looked like one large blur. Damascus hardly had anytime to react. He covered his head and chest with his crossed arms as to block the attack, yet it bursted with an explosion turning all the rubble to sand and dust, turning the once great palace of Great Britain into a desert. Damascus was no where to be seen. "Ha! You've been hit by a smooth criminal!" exclaimed Michael with a psychotic laugh. "More like a cray criminal!" challenged a deep, baritone voice from behind Michael. "Y-You! What are you doing here?!" exclaimed Michael. A Battle to Rival Emancipation Standing before Michael was his former best friend, a man who was the only reason that he managed to make it in Brooklyn. Before him was R'Zaveon Jamiere Freeman, the most well known and stereotypical of all dem black folks down in Brooklyn. R'Zaveon was tall and pudgy, like a jumbo sized teddy bear you could win at a carnival, but not so much cuddly. His skin was a deep shade of cocoa brown. His hair was in a spiky afro and stuck out about a foot from his head. He had bushy eyebrows and large bug-eyes. He had a large, round nose that was very oily. His lips were bright red and circular. He wore a gold ghetto jacket and about a million chains and rings. He wore blue jeans and Converse High Tops. "I was 'bout to ask y'allz the same thing! Whaddya doin' herez, niggah?" asked R'Zaveon. "That's, That's none of your business!" said Michael. "Now I know ya hated ya folks, but I'm not gonna stand for no killing of people widout no good reason. Just whatz you gone do dat for, and whatz you done with ya skin? I hope ya not tryin' t' pose as no wiggah boy, ain't ya?" asked R'Aveon. "R'Zaveon, out of respect for our former friendship, I kindly ask you to leave," Michael commanded. "Oh, so ya value ya friends more 'an ya family? Yeah, I saw whatcha did t' Damascus. How dare you! You can't get away with such crimes, the fuzz will hunt ya down! The man knows all!" shoutted R'Zaveon. "Don't worry about Damascus. He's alive, just barely, though. Now, you insolent Negro, begone or I shall kill you, too," Michael commanded again. "I ain't goin' no where! Imma teach y'all a nice lesson on black pride!" said R'Zaveon, removing his jacket and all his chains but one. Underneath he wore an off white stained wife beater that didn't cover his massive beer belly. "Fine. For fools like you there is only death!" said Michael. He propelled himself forwards with his bukujutsu and threw a punch, catching R'Zaveon in the face. He continued with a kick to the stomach and an elbow to the jaw, sending R'Zaveon flying backwards. "Okay, ya wanna play like dat? Two can play at this game," said R'Zaveon, wiping the blood off his face. He inhaled deeply and concentrated. His beer belly was sucked in and became a rock-hard eight pack. His arm, chest, and leg muscles also grew exponentially, until he was a giant cocoa bean of veins and muscles. "So, you're already going to use your steroeidón ''technique? Please, you can't beat me," taunted Michael. "I'll show you!" shoutedd R'Zaveon. He used his own ''bukujutsu and propelled himself at Michael. Michael put his guard up to counter the oncoming attack, but R'Zaveon swerved above Michael and kicked him into the rubble. Michael flew back up and countered by elbowing R'Zaveon in the face. The two continued to pummel each other until both of them were tired, sweaty, and covered in each other's blood. "You think you're keeping up with me, don't you, R'Zaveon?" panted Michael. "I, I know I'm keepin' wit' ya," panted R'Zaveon. "Really? You've been fighting at your full strength and I've been keeping some at reserve," said Michael. "So be it, then, but I'll still win in da long run," said R'Zaveon. "And how do you suppose you'll do that?" asked Michael. "Ya know how we've got each otha's blood on us? You just con-mother-fucking-tracted AIDs, niggah!" said R'Zaveon. "What? AIDs? Why you insolent little..." started Michael, only to be interrupted by the sound of his brother's signature chakra based attack. "Chréosi Anaskolopismós!" shouted a weary Damscus, covered in blood and scrapes from Michael's Beat It Blaster. From his bloody palms appeared a flash of golden light and electricity and formed an attacked that launched a rallying wave of sonic booms and energy at Michael. It formed a colossal tornado swirl and trapped Michael in the raging vortex of pain. The swirl formed a sphere around Michael and suddenly, all the energy formed into spear-like points, puncturing through him. "D-Damscus!? Did ya get 'im?" asked R'Zaveon. "I'm, I'm not sure," panted Damascus. Though there is a limitless supply to chakra, Damascus's energy wave exhausts the body when using it. The smoke where Michael was began to clear, revealing nothing. Michael was no where to be seen. "Maybe you hit him too hard?" asked R'Zaveon. "I'm not so sure," said Damascus. He couldn't sense his brother's chi signature, but he knew he was out there. His brother wasn't weak enough to be obliterated by Damascus's chakra wave. Sure enough, he felt his brother's chi ''signature moments later, rising gradually, then exploding beyond his full power. Damascus tried to locate where he was, but his energy felt as if it was all around Damascus. "Wh-Where are you?!" shouted Damascus. "I'm right here," said Michael's voice. Just as his ''chi ''signature, however, Michael's voice felt as if it was all around them. "Though, it's hard to know where here is, when you are everywhere." "Wh-What?!" Damascus exclaimed. "You heard me. Along with my lack of skin tone, I picked up another gift during my travels. Those include the ability to fade into darkness, most notably the smoke," said Michael. "You can turn into smoke?!" asked Damascus. "Not turn into it, but become one with it. I can possess any darkness, even my old companion," said Michael. "Wait, what?" started R'Zaveon. Suddenly, a dark mist-like substance materialized from the smoke in the air and swirled around him. It circled him as a giant sphere, slowly closing in around him. Then, all at once, it completely closed, following with a flash of darkness. R'Zaveon emerged from the darkness, yet he wasn't quite R'Zaveon. His skin, which was once dark brown, was now totally black and overpowering. His skin tone seemed to blend in with his hair, and the only parts of his body that seemed to stand out were his eyes and red lips. His clothes had changed into what Michael had been wearing before he turned into smoke. "R-R'Zaveon!" Damascus shouted. "Sorry, Mr. Freeman isn't in right now, but I'll be happy to call him upon his return. That is, in Hell," said R'Zaveon in Michael's voice. "M-Michael! You took over R'Zaveon!" Damascus exclaimed. "Do you finally get the picture, now, brother? I am much stronger than you in my normal form, yet my powers plus those of this Negro together make it 3000% impossible for you to beat me in your weakened state," replied Michael. "I will not accept this, evil will not prevail!" shouted Damascus. He propelled himself forwards, using ''chi to enhance his chakra for his bukujutsu. He clenched his right fist and concentrated on it until it turned into a ball of flaming energy. Yet as he zoomed towards Michael, the melanin-covered menace disappeared with a trail of black smoke. "Where are you!" shouted Damascus. "No need to shout, brother, I'm right here," came Michael's voice from behind. Michael kicked Damascus down to the ground. The Prince of England versus The Possessed Gangstah! "N-No, this can't be..." said Damascus. He lay there, face down in the sands where the heart of the palace had once been. His entire body ached from his overuse of his chi and taking a beating from his brother. His brother had killed everyone in the palace walls, hundreds of thousands of people, just gone with the wind. He felt miserable, and unlike his last time of great peril in Brooklyn, he had no big brother or Yujo Force to save him. This truly could be the end. All of Damascus's life, he had been looking up to someone, whether it be his parents, his brother, and even the comical R'Zaveon and Captain Brooklyn of the Yujo Force. Every problem, every challenge he crossed, he had someone to turn to for help. Now, he was faced with a giant black chasm, all the fears and problems he had ran from, and he had nowhere to turn. He was supposed to be the King of England in a few short hours, yet this weakness that surrounds Damascus is only evidence that he can't rule. In a twisted way, it was almost for the better that Michael had destroyed the palace, now Damascus wouldn't be able to lead a prosperous nation to its doom. "Well, well, brother, is all the fight out of you? It truly is sad, you hardly fought. More rather, you flailed around from my hits," said Michael. But Damascus didn't hear him, and if he could, he wouldn't even care. He had been beaten, there was no chance for him now. He was too frustrated with himself for not being able to do anything. He had been too ignorant, un-empathetic. He hadn't ever stopped to think if his brother had even the slightest bit resented him or his parents. Now thinking about it, all he could think was how he could have not realized it. Having your own parents put a curse on you before birth, then banishing you for the very ailment that they gave you, it just can't feel good. Now it had all come back to bite him, and he was powerless to stop it. "Really? You're not going to make this interesting for me? I'm giving you a window of opportunity; now is your chance to make your comeback or transform out of rage or something. I don't have all day, you know. Fine, If you're gonna be that way, then I'll end it," said Michael. He raised his arms into the position for his Beat It Buster. Just as he was about to release the tremendous energy to completely obliterate Damascus, Damascus snapped back to reality. He clenched his fists as he got up from the dirt and turned to face his impending doom. "It's over, Michael! I'll give you two seconds to power down and accept defeat before it's too late for you!" called out Damascus. "Wh-What? Why you impudent- Who do you think you are?" asked Michael. He didn't power down his attack, but it shrank, showing a lack of concentration. "My name is Prince Damascus Eisenhower Jones, the true, rightful heir to the throne of England. I am the one who will beat you," taunted Damascus. Michael was really getting bothered by Damascus's upbeat attitude, as his attack powered down completely and his pitch black face turned red. "Rightful heir to a throne of sand, maybe! You're only the true heir out of favoritism, you have no real power!" shouted Michael. "No, I am the true heir. I was born at the correct time for our parents, but you were a mistake. They cursed you so they could have an accurate reason for disowning you. You were never meant to be, and I'll fix that right here, right now," said Damascus. "And how do you suppose you'll manage that?" Michael asked. He was starting to lose his cool, just as Damascus had planned. He had realized that as Michael got more and more worked up, his control over R'Zaveon was diminishing. He could now sense some of R'Zaveon's individual power peeping through Michael's dark aura. "You're too weak; I've been playing with you the whole time. In fact, I could kill you right now if I wanted to," said Damascus. That was the breaking point; Michael snapped. He stayed over possession of R'Zaveon's body, but R'Zaveon's own powers were no longer under his control. Michael couldn't even think properly to realize this or have control over his own actions, leaving him with an even weaker fighting ability than before. "I-I'll show you! You are nothing, just a stuck-up, spoiled, impudent child taking my rightful place! Now you die!" shouted Michael. He hurled himself with his chi enhanced bukujutsu to Damascu's position with his arms flailing. Damascus easily sidestepped this elementary attack and countered by placing his elbow in the back of Michael's neck, causing him to spit up blood. "I'm nothing, eh? Then explain why you are powerless!" challenged Damascus. Michael threw himself at Damascus again, but he succeeded no more than the first time. This time, however, Damascus squared him in the chest with his fist, knocking the wind out of Michael. He doubled over, clutching his chest and coughing up more blood at the same time. "St-Stop! If you kill me now, then R'Zaveon will die, too!" pleaded Michael upon recovering from the last blow. "He'd be a sacrifice I'd have to make, he knows that. He would die an honorable warrior's death, unlike you," said Damascus coldly to his former brother. He raised his hand and was ready to deal the last blow with a chakra attack, only to be stopped by glowing and screaming from Michael. Michael's demonic aura had faded and was replaced by a golden and red one. Yet rather than being centered around his stolen body, it looked more as if it was trying to escape. Suddenly, there was a huge flash of white light, and when it cleared, Michael and R'Zaveon had separated, and both had clearly been beaten up. R'Zaveon was the first to pick himself up. He shook his head and looked around. "What happened here?" he asked, clearly not remembering anything after he had been possessed. "I beat Michael, and he lost possession of you," said Michael. "D-Don't think I'm beaten just yet," said Michael. He had stood up. His face was covered in blood and his clothes were torn all over. He had lost a considerable amount of energy from losing the fight, yet he still managed to stand up. "Y-You're still alive?!" exclaimed R'Zaveon. "Please, you think that you can beat me by simply making me lose control of my victim? No, sorry, you have no chance left. It appears you used the last of your powers to beat me in my previous state, and R'Zaveon is in no condition to fight. However, I'm still alive and well, so I'll finish the job, right here, right now," said Michael. He took a step closer to the two wounded heroes, only to be attacked from behind. "Gah, what?!" exclaimed Michael. "Whenever there is evil," said a figure behind Michael. "We will be there," said another. "To clean up the mess of crime," said a third one. "For whoever has the loudest dime," said a fourth one. "Or is in the greatest need," finished off a fifth one. "In brightest night, '' ''In blackest day, All evil shall escape my lei, For those who worship evil's way, Beware our power! This is your hour! Go go Yujo Force! You mighty morphin' Yujo Force! Go go Yujo Force!" said all five of them together. "Th-The Yujo Force?! What are you costume-wearing rejects doing in London?!" exclaimed Michael. The Yujo Force Save The Day! "Though usually we only patrol the streets of Brooklyn," said the first figure. He was the tallest of the group and wore a red mask that covered the top half of his face with Spider Man-like eyes. He wore a skin-tight suit with the capital letters of "C-B" on it. His costume was red and had a yellow belt, gloves, and boots. He was Captain Brooklyn. "We make a special exception," said the next figure. He was the second tallest of the group. He wore a black swimmer's cap and large goggles. He wore a blue skin-tight suit and a purple belt, gloves, and boots. On his chest was the inscription "D-G". He was Doctor Goggles. "When it's the fate of the world that's at stake," said the third figure. She was the third tallest, just slightly taller than the next member. She had a red-orange bonnet on her head, covering her eyes. She wore an orange and dandelion themed outfit and had the inscription "S-S" on her chest. She was the Saucy Surprise. "So prepare yourself, Michael," said the fourth figure. He was slightly shorter than the Saucy Surprise, but you could only notice if you were paying attention. He wore a white sailor's hat and suit, similar to the one worn by Popeye. The only difference was the inscription on his chest, which read "S-M", the Sailor Man. "For doom!" said the last one, the shortest of them all. She was as short as Captain Brooklyn was tall. She wore a white and light purple skin suit and a bandana covering the top of her face with slits for her eyes. On her chest read the inscription "M-I", for Miss Invisible. "Y-Yujo Force?! You couldn't possibly stand up to me! Anyways, weren't there five of you clowns?" asked Michael. "There are!" shouted Miss Invisible, offended. "Now I must be hearing things," said Michael. "You know very well, Jackson, that Miss Invisble, the fifth member, is standing right in front of you!" said Captain Brooklyn. "Miss Invisible? Oh, right, her. I get, she's invisible. Stop the charade and face me, coward!" called out Michael. "Dude, I'm not even invisble! I'm standing right in front of you! And becoming invisible isn't even my super power!" shouted Miss Invisible. "Well, I still can't see you, and what's the point of calling yourself Miss Invisible if you aren't even invisible? What's your super power again? Not mattering?" asked Michael. "It's dematerializing! DE-MA-TER-I-A-LI-ZING!" Miss Invisible shouted. "Well, that's down right stupid," said Michael. "Aaaaahhh!" fumed Miss Invisble. "Captain Brooklyn, may I please have permission to kill him?" she asked, clearly angered. "Not yet, shorty, we haven't even done our interpretive dancing yet," said Captain Brooklyn. "You know, Captain, those formalities are very annoying and don't look becoming of super heroes," said Dr. Goggles. "Nonsense! Just the other day I was reading Wars of Alia for more inspiration from the greatest hero of all time, the Great Saiyaman. Now that's a hero who always wins," said Captain Brooklyn. "Um, you do know he died within the first ten sentences, right, sir?" said Dr. Goggles. "Really? Then I don't know what I was reading," said Captain Brooklyn. "Perhaps Dragon Ball Z, that's where the Great Saiyaman was ripped off from, just with a different person behind the mask," replied Dr. Goggles. "Ah, yes, good old Dragon Ball. I still don't know how they have seven. Back where I'm from, all the young lads had two of 'em," said Captain Brooklyn. "Those aren't the same kind of balls," sighed the Sailor Man. "Oh, yeah, well never mind then, so, back to the topic at hand, wait, what are we doing here?" asked Captain Brooklyn. "I believe you said something about mouth-thingy," snickered Dr. Goggles. "Oh, right. Wait, then what are we doing in London? The Queen gives terrible mouth-thingies," said Dr. Brooklyn. "We should be in South Bend, I know some bitches who can really make it shine, if ya know what I mean," said Captain Brooklyn. "Whoah whoah whoah, contrary to popular belief, Gaga's mouth-thingies are much better than your average action. Ya know, just last week I was-" started Dr. Goggles. "Enough! I've had enough of you low-class costume wearing minority losers! Now it's high time you die!" shouted Michael. "Hey, we're not all minorities, Collin's white," said Captain Brooklyn. "Thanks for blowing my secret identity, Captain! Or should I say Roman!" shouted the Sailor Man. "Hey, no one knew I was referring to you until you aknowledged it," argued Captain Brooklyn. "Yeah, because everyone else on this team looka freakin' white," said the Sailor Man. "Well, the Surprise could pass off for it, she's pretty pale," said Captain Brooklyn. "Yeah, I look exactly like a Collin, don't I?" said the Saucy Surprise. "Well, sure you do, and you sorta sound like one, too. I mean, hold up on the testosterone, Gabby, give the boys going through puberty some," said Captain Brooklyn, gesturing to the Sailor Man. "All right, I take offense," said Gabby. "As do I," said Collin. "Yeah, who put you in charge?" asked Dr. Goggles. "Well first of all, Oscar, the brilliant writer of this wonderful piece of literature gave me the esteemed position of being the head honcho and left me in charge of the pecking order; which goes you, the dirt, the worms in the dirt, Captain Brooklyn's stool, the author, then Captain Brooklyn. And finally, who's side are you on?" asked Captain Brooklyn. "Well, you kinda did point out that I'm a minority," said Doctor Goggles. "Well, you are, we all are, except for Mister Imma-German-If-You're-Jewish-Imma-Rape-Ya over here," said Captain Brooklyn. "Well I'm sorry for being German," said the Sailor Man. "You know, guys, you're kind of adding filler and making it really confusing for the readers," said the narrator, who had just finished his break. "Well, so are you, I mean, where'd you come from?" asked Captain Brooklyn. "Good point, but to clear up any confusion, our esteemed Captain Brooklyn is Roman, the concealed Dr. Goggles is Oscar, our very own little nothing, the Sailor Man, is Collin, the Saucy Surprise is Gabby, and Miss Invisible is Kayla," finished the narrator. "Well, that pretty much sums it up. So guys, wanna go hit Carl's Jr.?" asked Captain Brooklyn. "Don't you mean Hardy's?" asked the Saucy Surprise. "No, I mean Carl's Jr. *cough* east coast freak! *cough*" said Captain Brooklyn. "Oh my f-ing Hitler! Dafuq is wrong with you people?! You come here acting boss like the White Lotus, then you go turn into mother-fucking little bitch whores! The Hell is wrong with you, can't you focus on one damn thing for the love of Christ?!" snapped Michael, shouting as loud as he could. "I am focusing on one thing, my stomach, I'm famished," said Captain Brooklyn. "FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-" started Michael, screaming. Suddenly, he snapped and became surrounded by a giant flash of white energy and his own blood popped from his veins. When the glare cleared, Michael had literally exploded. The prophecies had become true, the Yujo Force really could kill some one by talking. A Minor Recovery Three days have passed since Michael Jackson, the worst threat to England ever, imploded. Now, the brave heroes who had fought to protect the world they love are slowly recovering. The Yujo Force, after a few quick stops at Carl Jr.'s and South Bend (mmm, country chicks), have made their way back to Brooklyn inside their invisible jet, which didn't make whatever was inside it invisible, making the group appear to be sitting down in midair moving at rapid speeds. Damascus Jones and R'Zaveon Jamiere Freeman had been found in a rescue chopper and brought to the nearest hospital in Islington, only three miles away. Slowly, the boys began to return to health, and after a few weeks time, R'Zaveon Jamiere Freeman, too, had returned to Brooklyn. Damascus's recovery was slower as he did not have a black man's rejuvenating abilities, but soon enough he was at full health. Construction had began in the ruins of the palace ground, but the workers claimed it would never be the same. Great Britain lost a great deal of its population in that one explosion, roughly a third of it, and without the leadership of a king, it would be nearly impossible to make it out of this great depression. Damascus was faced with a choice: would he accept his position as King and fearlessly rule the country in one of it's hardest times ever, even while knowing he wasn't fit to be King, at least not yet, or would he give the country's safety to the hands of fate? He had been given a week to make the decision, whether he'd step up to the throne for his coronation, or the next most worthy of the throne would step up. Six days had already passed, and his time was almost up. He knew that the country depended on him, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make the right decisions for the nation. Finally, the day had arrived. Damascus stepped up to the podium where he'd give his grand announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen of our fair country of Great Britain, today is the day that I have to make my choice, of whether to take my rightful place as King, or leave the country's hands to the next most worthy. During my battle with my brother, and through my period of hospitilization, I have realized that I may not be the most capable to become King of England. I have decided that I will not step up to the throne, I will return to my travels, to one day return. I know it may be disappointing, but I cannot fulfill this role. I am deeply sorry, and I will be sure to see you again someday. Good day," said Damascus. He left the podium just as the riffraff and paparazzi began shouting out questions. He flew off to Lithuania, the one land in Europe that no one gives a damn about. He hid out in solitude, awaiting the day that he'd be needed again. Thriller Saga Ascension From Hell A year has passed since Michael Jackson met his doom at the cheerful hands of the Yujo Force. Now, in the fiery region of Hell, Michael begins to plot his ascension from the land of misery. Ever since he was brought to the writhing state of agony, he had been planning his escape. Now was his day to shine, and he soon would be escaping from it. Just as he had planned, he brought himself in front of the lord of Hell, Satan. "Michael, why have you brought yourself here?" asked Satan. "My lord, I request a council with you about my stay here in Hell," said Michael. "Access denied. I don't do favors. You have been sent here to writhe in eternal pain, and I'd never do you, or anyone a favor," said Satan. "I thought you might say that, sir, but please hear my proposition," begged Michael. "I said no, now back to the Fields of Punishment with you. Or do you need escorting?" asked Satan with a cruel smile. "I am not leaving here without a council," said Michael. "And you're not coming back with all of your limbs. Now, Super Queer, Tasty Tot, please escort our friend here to the seventh ring," commanded Satan. "Yes, father," replied the two spawns of Satan. The pair of brothers walked forth and grabbed Michael by his arms, despite his protest. They continued to drag him out of the palace until they reached the outside, where they stretched open their wings and flew, carrying Michael with them. Within minutes, they arrived above the seventh ring of Hell. "This is where ya get off, eh?" said Tasty Tot. "Sorry, I won't be going anywhere except for the palace gates," said Michael. "Ya don't think you can just waltz righ' up to the palace now, can ya?" said Super Queer. "I didn't even have to leave the palace if I wanted to, but I need you fools in order to make my escape. I can sense your energy levels, both of you have about a power level of 360 at best, so I'll have no trouble beating you," said Michael. "You can't beat us, we're the strongest of Hell's enforcers," bluffed Tasty Tot. "Really? From what I heard, your brother Junior can whip you both with his eyes closed," said Michael. "Maybe separated he can beat us, but when we're together, no one stands a chance!" exclaimed the two together. "Are you implying you can perform fusion?" asked Michael with a sly smile. "Only the best kind of fusion. No one can stand up against us while we're fused as Tasty Queer!" they said together. "Please then, by all means, humor me," taunted Michael. "Ya asked fir it!" shouted the brothers together. They jumped apart frome each other and went into their poses to perform the ancient ritual. They walked closer together, moving their arms across their body and finally, bending over and connecting their fingers. Then, with a flash of light, the two performed the Fusion Dance. After the light show faded, out appeared a completely different warrior. Though both Super Queer and Tasty Tot looked like miniature forms of their father, they looked almost completely different fused. Their skin had turne a very dark shade of green, so dark it was almost black. Their horns had turned red and grew much longer. Their eyes, once pure gold, had turned a shade of dark purple. "Now, Michael, taste the power of Tasty Queer!" shouted the fusion. "You just walked right into my trap, fools!" said Michael. He exploded into a cloud of darkness and surrounded Tasty Queer. He slowly circled him at first, then, all at once, he dove right into every dark space of Tasty Queer. There was a flash of white light, and Tasty Queer was no more. He was in the possession of the King of Pop. "Finally, now I have the ability to escape this prison!" exclaimed Michael. He flew off back to Satan's palace, to the location of the portal to Earth. Since he was much faster than the two brothers, he reached temple of doom using only ten minutes of his precious thirty minutes. Once he arrived, however, the lord of evil immediately took notice of his sons' state. "Super Queer, Tasty Tot, why have you fused?" asked Satan. "The whelp threw up a little bit of resistance, but as Tasty Queer I had the ability to show him his place," said Michael. "Whatever, then," said Satan. "Father, may I make my way to Earth, then?" asked Michael. "Why? What for?" asked Satan, squinting his eyes. "Well, I'd like to use the rest of my twenty minutes fused to do some damage to the Earthlings," said Michael. "So, you're finally warming up to the job? Fine, do as you please," said Satan. "Thank you, father," replied Michael. He grinned, as this was much easier than he had thought it would be. He had managed to get his escape from Hell to come to him, and he had tricked the Devil. Nothing could stop him now. He walked down to the end of the hall, finding the portal to Earth where he knew it would be. This portal wasn't the one that the evil souls arrive in, it was the one for when evil incarnate comes to wreck out their horid torture upon humanity. The portal appeared as a large pit of black fire and human bones. If he had tried to do this without Tasty Queer's body, his soul would have burned up and he would have ceased to exist. Yet with this demonic body, it would instantly transport him to Death Valley, California, the most Hell-ish place on Earth. The Raw Power of Evil Upon arriving in Death Valley, Michael flew high up in the sky to check his surroundings. All around him was desert, for miles and miles, nothing but sand and scorched rock. "Such a depressing place, I was expecting something a bit more grandiose for my return, but alas, this will have to do," said Michael. He stretched out his hands and let his chi power explode everywhere, wrapping the desert in his dark aura. He began laughing maniacally as the world began to catch on fire, but his dark hysterium was soon replaced with shock. "Gah! What's happening?!" exclaimed Michael. Out of nowhere, he departed from Tasty Queer's body and Tasty Tot and Super Queer unfused.s "Ha, your reign of terror is over before it began, Michael!" said Super Queer. "B-But how?! It hasn't been anywhere close to a half hour yet!" complained Michael. "If you use too much chi ''power while in a fused state, then the fusion wears off even quicker," said Tasty Tot. "Bah, whatever then! I don't need your pathetic bodies to wreak havoc on this world!" said Michael. "O contraire, mon ami. Though you've managed to escape from Hell, you still are a spirit. No one can see or feel, hear, or feel you, so you've lost!" proclaimed Super Queer. "Unless you find your old body, that is," said Tasty Tot. "Don't tell him that!" said Super Queer. "So all I have to do to regain power is repossess my body? That should be easy," said Michael. "As if. You died a year ago! If they haven't already burned your body, then it is rotting under rubble! You'd come back to life as a zombie," teased Tasty Tot. "So be it, then, I'd still manage," replied Michael. He took off flying at full speed, being able to use as much ''chi as he wanted as he was already dead. In a mere hour, he reached the old palace grounds of London. The palace was being rebuilt and some of the rubble was cleared, but it still looked like a disaster zone. He found the area where he had died a year ago, which was now a pile of rubble. He phased through the rubble and began looking, and to his luck, he found his body just the way it had been when he died. His body had been altered by the magic of his master, so though it could take damage, it could never rot. He walked into his body and regained conciousness. His body felt rusty and extremely weak, considering his own blood had bursted from his veins out of his anger. He had grown scrawny and it hurt to move, but he managed to drag himself out of the rubble. He stood and looked out at the sun. The amazing powers he had had when he was dead had disappeared, and now he felt an unending rage. "Hahahaha, alive again. Or more like undead. At least, now, I once again have my impeccable singing voice. I feel a song coming on!" exclaimed Michael. He moved his hand above his head and to the side in a clawed position. "Thriller..." he began, until he was met by gunfire. "Aye, mate, look what we got here!" said a man in an Australian accent. "It's alive! Holy Lord Zeus, it's alive!" exclaimed another man in a British accent. "Now whatta we gonna do with 'im?" asked the man in the Australian accent. "I'm still alive..." moaned Michael. "Kill it with fire!" shouted the British accent man. Michael slowly began to pick himself up, as his body was already dead, he couldn't die again. "Y-You, how dare you! Don't you know who I am?" asked Michael. "You're a zombie! Get away!" commanded the Australian accent man. "I am no zombie, I am Michael Jackson! I have come back from the dead to wreak my unholy revenge," said Michael. "Sure you are, and I'm Elvis Presley," said the Australian accent man. "Elvis is dead," replied Michael. "I know," said the man with the Australian accent with a stupid grin. "B-Bitches, please excuse my intrusion, but I'm gonna fucking kill you all now," said Michael. He straightened his undead posture and stretched his arms above his head. "T-Take my Beat It Blaster!" he shouted releasing an immense amount of negative energy. The blast enveloped the two unfortunate construction workers, and in a flash of darkness, they were no more. "Ahha ha ha ha, ha ha!" laughed Michael. He flew up into the air once more and surveyed again. "Let's see, where to start my conquest, I know! I'm sure if I blow up Africa the world will get my message," he said to himself. He began flying south and upwards at the same time, until he was above Africa and could see almost the whole curve of the Earth. "Get ready, world, for a Thriller you'll never forget!" proclaimed Michael. He held a massive ball of undead chi in his hands, prepared to throw it. "Now, taste the pain of the rightful prince!" he shouted. He threw it, and it exploded into a million smaller energy spheres directed towards Africa. In minutes, Africa, the lowest parts of Europe, Asia Minor, the Pacific Ocean, and the Indian Ocean exploded from millions of tiny energy beams. After the smoke and dust cleared, Africa had been leveled, some parts even flooded over by the ocean. "That is more like it," he said coldly. A New King and a New System The rain was pouring over the New London palace grounds. Construction had yet to be completed, but the main rooms and halls of the palace had been finished. Now, a crowd as large as the one that had been massacred on the fateful day of Michael Jackson's appearance had gathered as a royal guard began to give the proclamation. "Dear citizens of England, we have gone for a few months now without a King. Now, after the death of King Edward, and the absence of Prince Damascus, we have finally found the last one of King Edward's heirs. He was once a computer program but our former king has brought him to physical life. I give you, your new king, Skáfos," said the royal guard. A short figure walked out of the shadows from behind the podium He had light blue skin with purple in several areas. His head was bald and shiny. Where his eyes should have been were black slits. He had no nose and his mouth was a black circle, forever open. His ears were vertical black slits drilled into the sides of his head. He was very muscular and had three reptilian toes on each foot. He had a long, blue tail. "Hello, citizens of England. I am now your new king, for the rest of my immortal, mechanical life," said the figure in a cold, mechanical screech. "Over the years, our proud nation has gotten weak, our palace being destroyed by one mere man. We had to be saved by the collective efforts of nine indivuduals, eight of those weren't even English, and the English one was barely home grown. That is why I must address this issue with a completely new system. We will no longer laze around, watch the telly, and drive around in our lives of hobnockery. No, our new Great Britain's style will be much like the one of the ancient Greek city of Sparta, except even more intense. All men and women shall be required to train to their strongest potential, in physical, mental, chi, and chakra. All those who don't make the cut for their age group shall be executed, no exeptions. I dare all those who don't think this is right to challenge me, but just be aware your little hero Damascus Jones pales in comparison to my infinite power," proclaimed Skáfos. The crowd was shocked, but no one spoke. If Damascus couldn't beat this tyrant, then there was nothing a mob of English men could do. Way over in Lithuania, Damascus heard the announcement over his television set. Knowing that England was in such turmoil was his fault, it just ate at him even more. However, he knew he wouldn't do anything. He was sitting in a crowded coffee shop and hardly felt like being heroic. Just then, however, the news report changed. "A few hours ago the entire Death Valley of California, USA, went up in flames. The cause of this disturbance has yet to be determined, but it appears to have come from a dark figure in the sky above England. More news to come later," said the reporter. "Wh-What? A dark figure, that must be someone with incredible chi! Why didn't I feel it, though?" exclaimed Damascus. He stood up and walked out of the coffee shop, determined to face at least one of the problems. Suffering for Millions, Great Britain versus the World Damascus returned to his apartment and pulled out a large, wooden chest. This particular wooden chest had been brought with Damascus amongst all of his journeys, everywhere he went. Inside of it were many items of his past. After unhinging it, he found what he was looking for, his old martial arts gi. He had had it resized recently, so it fit him once again. The gi consisted of a sleeveless, green v-neck, a red belt, gray baggy pants, and form-fitting black boots. He put it on, and he became ready to take on the troubles of the world. The only question was, what was his target. This dark figure could be anywhere by now, and with such energy that he couldn't be sensed, there was no way Damascus would be able to track him. However, he did know the wherabouts of England's newest tyrant, and he wasn't that far of a flight away from Damascus's current position. He took off, and in a matter of minutes, he was back in London. He immediately went to the palace. Satan, Jr. Saga Coronation Saga Okrin Saga Hitler Saga Campaign Saga Oneshot Movies: Elvis Movie Shortly following Damascus's recovery from his battle with his brother Michael, a new threat coming from the same source as Michael appeared, his name Elvis Presley. Elvis had learned of his co-worker Michael's defeat, and he began to seek out the ones who had did it. It came to his attention that the Yujo Force had returned to Brooklyn. He didn't know if they had done it or if it was R'Zaveon or Damascus, but he decided he would get answers from them first. "The Yujo Force, eh? What a pathetic lot, I doubt they could have been the ones to finish off someone like Michael, but you can never be sure with these runts," said Elvis, flying to the direction of Brooklyn. In an hour, Elvis finally touched down atop a skyscraper in Brooklyn. "What a trashy city, how dare these puny ingrates make such a silly civilization, no regards to such ethnic divides, freakishly mating and imbreeding together. It makes me sick, our master will have pleasure tearing this all to the ground," said Elvis to himself. "Excuse me, denizen, but standing atop the buildings and muttering to yourself is prohibited in this city," said a voice from behind Elvis. Standing right behind him was none other than the Sailor Man, one of the members of the Yujo Force. "Is there anything you're gonna do to stop me, Collin?" asked Elvis smugly. "Y-You know my name? How?" asked the Sailor Man. "It's simple really. My master kept me and Michael informed with all the wherabouts of you pathetic heroes," said Elvis. "Wait, Michael Jackson?" asked the Sailor Man. "Who else?" asked Elvis. "So, you and Michael are in cohoots?" he asked. "You finally get it? Boy, you are a bit slow," smirked Elvis. "Watch your tongue, fiend, for I don't need the rest of the Yujor Force to beat you!" he said. Hatred Movie Following the defeat of the supreme enforcer of Hell, Satan Jr., peace had reigned. Yet unknown to all, the hatred and evil of all the villains they had fought still lingered amongst the Earth. The hatred had only been sensed by one person, the supreme deity of dark magic, Salt Azar. "This power, this blessed, evil power! This is more than enough for me to take control of this putrid world," said Salt Azar to himself. He stood in front of his cauldron and began chanting. "By evil incarnate, by unholy curse, To all who dwell in pain, Give me your power to make it worse, And forever make blood taint rain. Allow me one wish, one of wicked deeds, To control the universe and more, For as long as pussies accompany reeds, There'll be eternal war," chanted Salt Azar. Go Go Yujo Force! Movie Genghis Khan Movie Theodosius I Movie The Path of a Hero Movie Fifteen years have passed since the defeat of the tyrannical tyrrant Adolf Hitler by the hands of the world's savior, Damascus Jones. Shortly after the battle, though, Damascus had two affairs with women, one of African American descent, another of Mormon descent. Both women bore children, neither learning of the other's existence. The women of African American descent bore a child that she named Barack Hussein Obama, after her father. The women of Mormon descent named her child Mit Romney. The two children, just like their mothers, had no knowledge of the other. Shortly after their births, though, Damascus fell to AIDs and both children became father-less. Rather than having either of his secret children take the throne, however, in his will, he passed the governing of England to Philmont Stephenson, making her the Queen of England. Barack Obama never learned of his father as a child and lived a quiet, yet busy, life in Hawaii with his mother. He followed his studies, one day moving to Indonesia, one day moving back. His life had been majorly uneventful, until one day tragedy struck. The New Soviet Union of Russia attacked the island of Hawaii, looting and pillaging before dropping the final bomb. Barack's mother looked into her son's wide, frightened eyes. "Barack, you have to listen to me, you have to run!" commanded the mother. She was shaking with fear, but she knew she had to stay strong for her young son. "But mom, what about you?" asked Barack. "I'll be fine, but you have to run! My son, you have the blood of a hero within you. Promise me that after you get away, you'll find a way to defeat them," said the mother. She tried to make her voice soothing, as if she was telling him that the school bully would no longer pick on him. "But what are you gonna-" started the young Barack. "Stoppit, there's no time! Now run!" she commanded. "Yes, mom," said Bardock with tears in his eyes. He dashed for the door and ran out, only to see his childhood home, everything he had held dear, being torn down, burned and looted. All the people were being gunned down by scary men in black gear. "You! Come over here!" commanded one of the men. "N-No!" replied Barack. He was terrified and began tearing up once again. Category:Gozon Category:Humor Category:Story Category:Seri-osity Category:Science Fiction Category:Sci Fi Category:Fantasy